Strap-Hanging: Auckland, Melbourne
The boy I was travels with me
always, and now it's trams again -
as when, a high school boy, I first
went out unparented.
In uniform, with bag and cap,
instilled with deference,
I got to give my seat to adults,
men or women, specially women.
With a polite smile I'd reach up
and clutch a strap as the tram lurched.
Once, in an over-warm tram
I flushed inside my raincoat
and crumpled in a faint.
Kind strangers helped me to a seat,
I came to, abashed, protected;
helped off at my stop
for the walk home feeling reborn.
I was said to have 'outgrown my strength'.
Now I've outlived it -
now it's: climb stiffly aboard,
look for a seat - unlikely
possibility so near town,
cling to a strap, survey
my fellow-passengers.
Long before I can feel faint,
some young person -
especially female -
offers me a seat.
The boy I was, who travels
with me, blushes -
the pensioner I am smiles -
amazed that code survives -
I crumple into my
unaccustomed category.
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